


Scars

by laulan



Series: 30-300 [29]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:25:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laulan/pseuds/laulan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two times he almost drives to California.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a project where I wrote one 300-word ficlet for each day in September. Warning for mentions of knife violence.

There are two times he almost drives to California. The first is the night after Sam leaves. The second is on his first hunt alone.

Dad hides the keys the first time. “He made his decision, Dean,” he says, hard-eyed. “Let him go.” Dean sits out on the steps of the motel the whole night, cold and aching and going over and over how he could’ve done better, but he lets Sam go. Dad’s orders.

The second time, it hits him out of the blue. He’s two days into his hunt; it’s been three years since Sam left, and almost that long since he called. These days, Sam is an ache like a scar in his chest: healed, mostly, but it still pulls when he moves wrong or thinks about it.

He shouldn’t be, now, though. There’s no reason to. All the same, he wakes up with his jaw aching from gritting his teeth in his sleep and a want so strong and sharp it’s like he swallowed a knife.

He sits up. The motel sheets scratch against his skin, and he remembers how Sam used to collect matchboxes, one from every motel they stayed in, like some weird scrapbook.

 _I could do it,_ he thinks. _I could give Dad a call. Tell him I met a girl and want to stick around for just a couple of weeks, that I’ll look for hunts down here. Be in California in a couple of days. Stay there just long enough to see how he’s doing—_

He stops short, imagining the look on Sam’s face when he answers the door. A flash of confusion, then a kind of pinched, polite smile—the kind Sam gave principals, policemen.

 _Let him go,_ he reminds himself, and gets up.

-

(That doesn’t work.

It never does.)


End file.
